If he had learned anything since, it was that he couldn’t handle everything alone. He may have only just met Mason but there was a connection, and not just because they both knew about engines, cars and bikes. Mason was a good man, and he was a friend of Cassie’s. He could trust him.
‘Actually, there was something I wanted to talk to you about, although you may think I’m mad.’
Mason put his knife and fork down, leant back in his chair and smiled. ‘Go on.’
In a few short sentences, Stefan related Morse’s visit to Belthorn, and Cassie’s encounter with him on the road moments after she found that her van’s tyres were flat.
‘It could be a coincidence, of course, although having faulty valves on two tyres at the same time is highly unusual,’ Mason commented. ‘Morse strikes me as an oddball, but as far as I know, people seem to like him. I can ask around, if you like.’
‘I would appreciate it.’
Mason smiled. ‘I’m glad Cassie has you to look out for her. She’s a smashing girl and a good friend. She deserves… well… I suppose she deserves to be happy and well cared for.’
Once again, Stefan’s face felt hot. He had no idea if he was the man who would make Cassie happy, but he would make sure he’d look out for her. He grunted a non-committal noise and drank up his beer.
Mason went back to work, leaving Stefan with a couple of hours on his hands before meeting the Mountain Rescue Service at Patterdale. He ordered a coffee, took his phone out and googled Morse. Unsurprisingly he found that there were a lot of men called Morse.
It was time to narrow the search. Patrick had mentioned that Morse had worked in campsites around the country, and he remembered a couple of names – Wizard’s Point in Devon and King’s Forest in Yorkshire – which may be enough to triangulate information. He inputted several combinations but once again drew blanks. He put his phone down with a frustrated sigh. This was pointless. He didn’t even know what he was looking for.
What if he tried Manchester? That’s where Morse was from. Patrick had also mentioned a luxury retirement home there. He picked up the phone again. This time he got a hit, one link to the crime reports section in the Manchester Herald. He clicked on the newspaper link. It was an article dated three years before regarding the theft of cash and valuables at an old people’s home in Prestwich. Police had interviewed all residents and members of staff but their enquiries had unfortunately been inconclusive. Several names were listed, among which was Darren Morse who worked there as a caretaker.
Stefan was about to look for more information when he glanced out of the pub’s window and spotted Joseph Bell standing across the main street, looking at a piece of paper and frowning. Suddenly the old man staggered and sat down heavily on a nearby bench.
Stefan grabbed hold of his coat, waved goodbye to the waitress and rushed out. By the time he reached Bell, Joseph had slumped on the bench, his head in his hands.
Leaning down, Stefan put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Is everything all right?’
Cassie’s grandfather looked up. ‘Ah, it’s you, son.’ He nodded. ‘I’m having a rest. My knee is playing up.’ He grimaced and rubbed his knee. ‘Arthritis, you see. It must be the weather.’
The paper he was holding trembled between his fingers. It looked like a bank statement. When he saw Stefan looking at it, he stuffed it into his pocket and held his hand out. ‘Help me up, son.’
Stefan heaved the old man to his feet. ‘Do you need a lift back to Patterdale Farm?’
‘It’s kind of you to offer, son, but Rachel is taking me back later. Young Louis was feeling well enough to attend school this morning so she’s gone to work, and I popped into the village for a few errands.’
He smiled. ‘By the way, Tim said that our Cassie spent the night at Belthorn because the village road was blocked. It’s lucky you were there to look after her.’
Stefan frantically tried to find something suitable to say. Telling Joseph that he had made love to his granddaughter most of the night was probably not what he had implied by him looking after Cassie. His face grew hot, again. Damn it, he was making a habit of this blushing business…
‘I hope she was… ahem… comfortable enough,’ he muttered.
‘Good. Good.’ Was there a twinkle in Joseph’s eyes or was it just the sunlight?
‘Actually, there’s something I need from Bluebell Cottage. Would you mind coming with me, that’s if you’ve nothing better to do, of course? With my bad knee and with the pavements being slippery, I could do with a steady arm to lean on. I don’t want to fall and end up in Casualty with a broken bone, like Louis.’
‘Sure.’
Once in front of the cottage, Joseph let go of Stefan’s arm and fished a key out of his coat pocket. ‘Let’s hurry. I don’t want Doris from across the road to see me. The woman scares me to death. She believes I’m trying to steal her cat when I can’t abide the damned animal.’
Stefan repressed a smile at his panicked expression and the way he darted furtive glances across the street as if his neighbour was about to come out of her cottage and beat him with her walking stick.
‘I have to agree with you that she is rather formidable. I met her on Tuesday when Cassie came back here to let the cat out.’
Joseph glanced up, a surprised look on his face. ‘He came in again? I swear I’m going to start charging that cat rent soon.’ He unlocked the front door and pulled a face. ‘Come in, quick!’
Stefan did as he was told.
‘Now, my lad, would you mind going upstairs and getting a file for me? I’m having a spot of bother with my bank and I need to check my papers, but I don’t think I could manage the stairs just yet.’
He gave Stefan a description of the file he was after, and added, ‘It’s in the top drawer of the filing cabinet, in the back room. Second door on your left.’ He lowered himself onto a chair at the kitchen table, once again, looking old and forlorn. In fact, he hadn’t cracked a single joke yet.
It didn’t take long to find the file Joseph was after, all the more because it was sticking out of the drawer, preventing it from closing properly. As Stefan lifted it out, he spotted more files at the back, with stickers with names on, some of them he recognised. Hartley. Gasby. Sweeney. Bennett – wasn’t that the vicar’s name? Larger ones at the back read ‘Ashville Cottages’ and ‘Belthorn’. The files must be Cassie’s.
As he shut the drawer, something fell at the back of the cabinet with a hard thump. He bent down to retrieve it, and pulled out a chunky magazine he recognised straight away. It was a copy of the interior design magazine he had bought Cassie the day before at the hospital, the one with the photos of her hotel room designs, and the photo of her former boss.
He swallowed hard as the unpleasant sensation he had experienced in the hospital waiting room tightened his chest once more and left a bitter taste in his mouth. Jealousy – if that’s what that nasty, gut-wrenching feeling was – wasn’t something he cared for.
He put the magazine on top of the filing cabinet and was about to walk out when the radiator emitted a loud gurgling sound, and a damp patch spread on the carpet below.
He went back downstairs file in hand and put it on the kitchen table.